HBD, USA. Now with Afterword!

::(Editor'sNote: The following entry was originally posted on July 4th, as an ode to America and a short, teasing monograph of my brother Pete and his gf, Laly. The post was temporarily disabled (html? codes? monetizing? i get lost...) at some point in July, but today it is back--- with an added afterword! Pete and his gf have more recently become Pete and his WIFE, so read on for some updates and general hilarity. Best, MG.)::





Today is America's Birthday.

I think it is safe to bet that, after many years, the USofA is kinda getting tired of the old "HotDogs-Hamburgers-Fireworks-And-DUI"celebratory tradition. Someday soon, I would like all of us to mix things up and plan a Roast to celebrate America. We can hit her with some zany jokes that poke fun at all the flaws of this 200+year old lady. Something along the lines of "Hey, Land of the free, everybody knows that you are totally flaky. You change the price of stamps more than Lindsay Lohan changes her hair color!" (ZING!)

(Ok, I need time to think of some better jokes. In the patriotic words of George Washington, "Topical satire, much like the Revolution, cannot be rushed. Haters to the Europe." )

This 4th of July is just one of the many celebrations that have been abounding over at the Gaverbo house recently.

More specifically, we are currently undergoing Wedding-Palooza, an event during which all things bridal are enforced, I mean bestowed, upon us. Just last week, I hosted a Bridal Shower in honor of my almost-sister-in-law, Senorita Naggy Fernandez. I call her Naggy because her hobbies include a) being all up in my grill and b) having opinions about the things she observes when up in said grill. Don't get me wrong, her interest in my life is generally helpful and born of genuine concern for my finanical/physical/wine-drinking betterment, but the nickname "Senorita Concerned-for-my-Wellbeing Fernandez" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

SPEAKING of rings, Naggy happens to wear a ring given to her by my big brother, Dr. Intrusive, Esquire.
Dr. Intrusive, Esquire, much like his betrothed, is a very supportive guy.
(I mean this literally. His head could be mistaken for a full moon, and his shoulders must work overtime to support that noggin. Pete can't nod in agreement with anything, because doing so would make him fall to the ground. Also, he disagrees with everything anyone says that doesn't include the words "Pete" and "awesome", so he generally just doesn't nod.)
Dr. Intrusive, Esquire, just graduated Law school and is currently studying for the Bar Exam. Though his schedule is packed, big brother still finds time to come home every night and "check in" on me. By this, I mean that Pete has decided to prepare for his Lawyer-days by grilling me as though I am on the stand in a really scary legal-type-scenerio. I now find myself choosing my words verrrry carefully, as it seems that anything I say or do really WILL be held against me in a court of law-- or mom's kitchen, as it were.


Despite these generally inexcusable flaws, Sra. Naggy and Intrusive,Esq. are not half bad. They typically treat me pretty well and are much better than other couples that one might encounter, such as Professor Disinterested and Captain Aloof. I imagine that they would not be fun to hang with.

Anyway, though Wedding Palooza can be tiring at times, the lovely couple is, admittedly, worth the trouble. It was around this time last year that the two were getting together after a brief separation period that followed a temporary reconcilliation that followed an utterly confusing near decade long courtship. When asked when he first fell in love with Naggy, Intrusive said "when I met her". I say, he had a very interesting way of showing it. I guess, if I have learned anything from these two, it is that they each have unique ways of "keepin on", but, in the end, they "get 'er done'. (Naggy's down-home, folksy way of talking is really rubbing off on me.)

So, happy birthday to America, and happy TWELVE weeks until wedding day to the happy couple.


Freedom aint free,
Man Gaverbo





December 3, 2009



Well, time does fly, doesn't it?



Since the composition of my HBD,USA post, America has added a few more months to her years, and Dr. Instrusive and Sra. Naggy have added a few more rings to their fingers. (NB: by rings, i mean BLINGS. Naggy's rock is the size of an acorn afixed to a softball. Yowza.)



A few months ago, the gaverbos headed south to a foreign country called Puerto Rico to attend a wedding that was pretty much the dopest event since the nuptials of J.Lo and her scary vampire-looking husband, Mark Anthony. (Seriously, married in the same catherdral and reception at the same hotel!! I'm just waiting for Laly to simultaneously release an album, a perfume, and a line of booty shorts.Puerto Rican chica see, Puerto Rican chica do.)

The wedding took place on a blamy night in late September, full of toasts and polyglots and Earth,Wind,&Fire songs. It was awesome to see my big brother and new big sis look so very lovely, very overheated, and very happy together.

Woops, I mean here.

Since that time, I have traded my sandals for rainboots, springing back into action in good old Center County, PA. With the semester now winding down, the past few months seem like nothing but a blur of weddings (big ups to my cousin Jean and her new Hubby, Chris, whose wedding last week was my 2nd of 3 appearances as a bridesmaid this season. Great wedding, very great couple.)

Now I am faced with only 2 weeks of work until HoLiDaY bReAk 09, wherein this heroine will sleep late, eat big, and attempt to buy Christmas gifts for friends, family, and boyfriend with a combined budget of 18 dollars. How will she do it? Where will she shop? Does her boo enjoy Macaroni Frames and Coupons for one hour of "Annie Time"? Will her new sister, who happens to be her gift-receiver in the family grab bag, enjoy her mix tape and Penn State mug? Will her roommates like their 'free hugs'? We will have to wait and see.

With any luck, my gift giving will measure up to the shopping abilities of my boyfriend, who picked up this little treasure while in Portland last weekend:

Apparently, Beer socks are a girls best friend.

That is all for now, hang tight and stay warm!

MG

An Open Letter

To: The Uni Mart Lady, et al
From: Man Gaverbo, on behalf of a silent many
Re: Hatin'


Dear Lady,

I get it. You hate me. There is something about my round face and stupid glasses that makes you want to stare me down until I burst into flames or get a particularly insidious form of H1N1.
Over the past 3 years or so, I have patronized your business on a frequent basis. By patronize, I mean to say that I have stopped off at your little corner store to trade some Diet Dr. Pepper for some cash. However, it is apparent to me that by 'patronize', you think I mean 'come to kill your children and steal your identity and make your life utterly unlivable until you one day decide to end it, alone and childless and poor.'
I assume this because your demeanor towards me is befitting of someone in this type of situation. Sometimes, when shopping along the far wall of your store, looking for aforementioned Diet Pepper, MD, I am afraid to fully turn my back to you, and instead stand slightly sideways, preparing to dodge any mean stares, punches, or bullets that you may send in my immediate direction. It is not an exaggeration when I say that you are so mean to me that I sometimes leave your lil' mart on the verge of tears, wondering through my Catholic guilty what I could have done to upset you to such an amazing degree. I realize that your job is less than glamorous, and that working a small store that is open late in a college town is not quite a utopic dream, but, please, please, quit hating me so hard. I have tried for a long time to overlook your death-glares and hum quietly to myself in order to better ignore the distinct growl that comes from within your pursed, angry, old lady lips when I browse the cookie aisle. But in this, my senior year, I am officially putting my foot down (indirectly, through a blog that you, and countless others, will never read.)

I get it. You hate me.

You need to turn the page, woman. You need to turn this page in your big cannon of hatin', and just move on to the chapter where you accept that the real reason that you are angry is because McLanahans gets way more business and has way better hours and way more fun things for employees to look at while I browse the cookie aisle. I am not the reason that you are angry, so you need to step off and move on.

While you move on, bring the lady from the coffee place at the HUB. Yeah, you know the lady that I am talking about. I think she is your sister. I have thought about it long and hard, and decided that you must be related, and that, together, you suffered a terrible childhood during which your parents were eaten by lions. Your adoptive foster mom had a thing for show tunes and disney soundtracks, which she would play at all hours of the day while she drank heavily and forced you to reenact scenes in british accents. The catch was, her favorite show was the Lion King, and for obvious reasons you two were really sensitive about the whole lion-eating-mom&dad-thing, so you hated reenacting it. And when you finally protested, vocalizing your utter hatred of J.T.T's young Simba and challenging the accuracy of Pumba's Hakuna Matata myth, she sent you off to live in Center County PA, where you could only find work at small shops, and had to spend your day serving, ironically, Lion fans.

That is the rationalization I have had in my mind for 3 years now, Lady at the Hub Coffee Place.

But no more.

The truth is out. You are just down right CRABBY. Really, lady, I KNOW that you know who I am. I am the girl who, for over 2 years, has been the first student to arrive at your shop 3 mornings a week. I am the girl who, among a group of tall, sandwich-obsessed, sleepy-eyed boys, emerges from the radio station directly across from you around 7:30am and orders a coffee. I never wear disguises, I rarely change my hair style, and I am always about 1/3 the height of the boys who are with me. And yet, you act as though we are strangers... strangers who hate eachother with the heat of a million tall coffees. When I greet you with a "good morning", you can do little else but stare at me with a look that says "i swear to god if you say one more word I'll come at your with a razor blade."


You need to cool down. My mother raised me to be a polite girl, and to always respect the workers who are just doin' their thing from day to day. For this reason, despite your unending sass, I have continued to be nice to you. I smile, I ask polite questions (how are you? did you have trouble getting here in the snow? where did you get that lovely visor with the coffee mug printed on it?) and yet I get nothing. Doing mama proud, I have tried my best to overlook your rudeness, even when you give me a plain bagel instead of a blueberry bagel and refuse to exchange it, claiming that it IS the bagel I ordered and "sometimes there just aint too many blueberries in 'em."
I bite my curse-word-laden tongue when you tell me "we're out of ice" as the worker standing 3 feet behind you fills a cup with cubes of frozen water that could otherwise be referred to as 'ice'. I smile politely and move on with my day, thinking of your sad childhood amongst the crazy lady and assume that possibly she also had a penchant for ballads from "Annie", and therefore it is my name, and not me, that you hate. Such an explanation would be acceptable.

Until now.

Lady, say hello. Smile, just a teeeeny bit. Acknowledge the clear sound of the ice machine rumbling behind you and indulge me. I know that your job is not awesome. College kids are actually some of the most obnoxious people on the face of the planet. They are kind of like middle schoolers.... but worse, because, they have credit cards and fake IDs and favorite types of coffee. So, when you face them, the are generally greedy and hung over and very picky about their soy decaf mocha whatevers. And working a cash register is lame. I know, from personal experience, that retail and whatnot is just down right painful. I myself have experienced the idiocy of customers who cannot function as independent adults and thus blame it on the cashier when they purchase a coffee maker instead of a tea pot. (True Story.)
I have experienced people who try repeatedly to buy cigarettes and candy bars with food stamps and, when told that it is not legal to do so, throw the pack of cigarettes at me and call me a string of precisely chosen mean words.
I have experienced customers who purchase Slushies from a machine that is NOT turned on, and thus dispenses only a minor amount of residual sludge and sugar water that fills their cup barely 1/8 of the way to the top, only to try and RETURN the drink for a full refund five minutes later.

People can just be unbelievable.

But, rather than hate all over everyone, you could, perhaps, let it go. Moreover, you could Appreciate the customers who politely ask how you are, or try to act friendly, or smile, or just breathe in your general area. Sure, sometimes we have the audacity to ask for a small cup of ice to cool down the coffee. But maybe you could take a bit of advice from me and the 290849189753874729085 other people who have ever been in your position. Stop hating. A job has its ups and downs. Sometimes people yell at you and throw cigarettes, sometimes people forget their wallets in the car, sometimes people order bagels WITH fruit baked into them. But maybe you should appreciate the ones who don't, or be grateful for the customers that put a tip in your jar, or thank you for your service, or wander up from the pharmacy department to share some M&Ms with you. Whatever the case may be, take it from me, a seasoned retail worker of 2 months; the customer isn't always right, but they ain't always wrong, neither.

College, Chapter Four

I am composing a new entry, and so it is safe to assume that I currently have at least a dozen very important tasks to finish. It seems that my last post was published sometime back in June, when I still felt the pressure of the job searching, gym visiting, society joining obligations in my life. Feeling said pressure, I of course chose to blog rather than to bite the bullet and get things done and done.

Post that post, summer really set in. I worked from time to time, worked out from time to very rare time, and only joined society when the words "free" and "sample" were dangled out at the local Costco. My surrender to a summer of extreme relaxation resulted in few posts and a near disappearance of Man Gaverbo.



But now she's back! Cue wild anticipation.



So, I'm a senior now (well, techincally still a Junior in terms of credit-level... seems that leaving 2 weeks prior to finals stunts your gpa and matriculation pattern just ever-so-much... but that is neither here nor there).


Three years down in Happy Valley and only one single, 9 month stint left. One more homecoming, one more THON, and only a dozen or so all-nighters. I'll try not to be preemptively nostalgic, but I do have to admit that time flies when you are having the kind of fun that you may not remember specifically, but always remember in vague relapses and suprise bruises.


Anyway, I'm getting off track now. Let's take a look at some new things in my life, shall we?
First off, I've got new digs this year-- grown up digs. As in, I have my own room and I don't have to sneak my Bud Select past any RAs.



202 Bjt, the homestead, is looking excessively fashionable, thanks to my roommate Ryan. Ryan has pimped us out in a way that Xzibit would only think of in his wildest, grill covered, loud speaking, kind-of-endearing-but-mostly-just -shouting- a-lot-at-the-screen, dreams.

In my living room, I have a tv that I refuse to turn on. I refuse because I am convinced that the thing actually cost more than my 7th grade braces (big ups, Dr. Shnorkian, what what holler back expander bands). I'm not too up on the Tv lingo--- because I still prefer to gather around a large am radio and listen to spooky stories about the reds bombing us---but, if forced to guesstimate, I would say that the screen measures about 100 million inches by several stories tall. The picture on our jumbo screen is as sharp as my dazzling wit, and the sound that surrounds all ears in the vacinity is clearer than invisilign on its first day of alignment. With such chic,decorative decor'tronics (electronics that are pretty), I find it best to stay in my room amongst my glorified-calculator-of-a-laptop and my glorified-walkie-talkie-of-a-phone and hope that the sound of Halo Wars is only a game and not a real outbreak of warfare in the common room.

Beyond the decor'tronics, the trappings of 202 bjt have taught me some new life lessons.
I apparently used to live in the dark ages of refrigeration. I was under the silly, simple impression that a full refrigerator/freezer utility was enough to satisfy and satiate an apartment of 4 people. BOY, was I wrong.

As it turns out, the appropriate number of refrigeration devices for an apartment whose membership weighs roughly 550 pounds combined is not One, not two, not five, but SIX.
We have six refrigerators.

Yes, they are not ALL full sized. But, nonetheless, if the power went out in all of the other apartments on the floor except for ours, we could harbor all of the potentially-spoiled food that our floormates would seek to salvage. This kind of luxary is great, because there are simply times when the 35 foot walk to the kitchen is too much to bare. In those moments, I'm grateful for the 3 refrigerators that fill the space inbetween myself and my distant, elusive, kitchen refrigerator. Big ups to last-years tenant for leaving a pretty little fridge behind!

Even better is the cast of roommates filling the pimped out pimp house. Brian, my friend despite owning skinny jeans, fills up a room with his own knack for pairing greens and browns and fem-rock without losing an emo beat. Ryan, as previously mentioned, has decked out our a.p.t. with p.h.a.t. stuff and somehow still finds time to introduce me to new, intellectual jams.

But best of all is our new addition, a lady from down south, with charm, pizzazzzz, and an unnecessarily large supply of Hello Kitty merchandise, Xtina Dangerang.

Dangerang signed on to live with us without truly getting to know B-ri, Ry-ry, or myself, I-I, and therefore is suffering a sad reality check in this, our first week of cohabitation. Xtina, or as I like to call her, Mulan, resembles the Yellow Power Ranger, except with less violence and background music accompanying her most of the time. While I sound mildly (read: incredibly) rude and offensive, I should say that I really respect Xtina for her willingness to take a joke. Also, I am grateful for her ability to protect us with a swift roundhouse kick to any Putty that we may encounter in day to day life.



The homefront is definitely solid and chic, and thus Man finds herself with little to fret over. Aside from my impending, crippling debt and the distinct liklihood of running the 5th-year-senior-victory-lap in 2010/2011, all is well at mg's blogspot. The summer of relaxation has almost officially come to a close, leaving bits of a farmers tan and a few blog-worthy stories in its path (hey, are you an english major? have you taken courses fully dedicated to inventing bland/universal/trite personifications of the seasons?)



For now, the stories will have to wait. I will invariably be disclosing my tales from behind the cash register at one of Americas most beloved retail pharmacies, most of which contain a) language unsuitable for children b) throwing of toothpaste/cigarettes/Tastycakes c) a sweet polyester blue shirt, worn by yours truly.

Also, if there is time, I will possibly get around to telling you some summer dating stories that consist of a) vomit b) vomit c) the loss of all dignity or power in a new relationship when vomiting enters the picture.

Until then, I hope each of you enjoys these last days of Summer. Wear sunscreen!

Yours, Man

Enough about me, ENFP

Before I begin my post today, I want to apologize to anyone who regarded my last entry as rude, insensitive, or incorrect. If John and Kate read this blog (which I assume they do), I apologize for my accusation about your daughter. I was wrong.

Clearly, JOEL and his selfishness are at fault for the dissolution of Gosselin marriage.

I'm glad we cleared that up.

Anway, on to more important things.

As of late, I have had ample time to do absolutely nothing. Sounds great, right? Eh, not so much. Today is roughly day 35 of SummerOhNine and already I am a little (a lot) stir crazy. Im trying to do as Shery Crowl advises and soak up the sun, but Pittsburgh is somewhat fickle with sunlight and my dematologist recommends spf 25 and shade. So instead, I'm doing as Oprah advises, and getting to know myself. "Live your best life", she tells us. "Done and Done,Oprah," I reply.

(I have to admit that I am a little suspicious of her recently, though. O says that drinking tons of green tea will help you lose 15 pounds in a snap. Warm Tea? No more treadmill? Not falling for that one, homegirl.)

So I set off to get to know myself and thus find my best life.As it turns out, I'm really quite dull at the moment. While I love a little me time, after a while, I start to wonder what good it is to "live my best life" without having anyone around to be like "whoa, anne, your life is the best right now- you are like a short, white, irish version of Oprah."

I'm all for self-fullfillment, but if O gets Gail King and Dr. Oz and Rachel Ray, I should have my own posse too, right? Right.

So how does one find her best life and then collect her awesome, best life gang (BLG)? I say, start at the very beginning. Figure out who you are and what you want.

And How do I do this? How do I find the answers to life's most endless, philosophical, esoteric, infinitely sought questions?

Google it.

I typed something brilliant, along the lines of "learn about me or whatever" into Google and got this little nugget. It's a shorter version of the Myers Briggs Personality test. Go take it. Seriously. TonsOfFun. Do it now.

I should say that I don't generally buy into the rigidity of personality tests. I think that people, just being people, go through phases and moods and 'growth periods' (big ups to Psych 101 prof) that impact our personalities. But the MB test takes all those variables into account and tries to deliver a fairly accurate 'diagnosis' of personalities. There are something like 16 different personality types, and each diagnosis really just explains how a person might socialize/approach issues/ interact with others.

This isn't some A type vs. B type test, where the results are like "hey man, you are a typeB. High five! you are the life of the party but also you are unemployed, superficial, and all your cousins think you are an alcoholic based on your behavior at family reunions." Or "Good afternoon, type A personality, you are extremely dull. However, your 401k is rock solid and you have quite impeccable hygine. Cheerio." (all type A personalities are also british)

My point is, MB just don't play it like that.

According to the test, I am an ENFP, and, while I was unsurprised by the results, I felt very humbly put in my place as I read about all of the quirky (read: stupid. you are an idiot, you dumb ENFP) things that I do.

For example, one thing I read said "ENFP's who find themselves in a situation where they are unable to discover and enjoy new people and things tend to get whiny. Really whiny. "

...gulp...

guilty.

I will probably throw myself on the ground and bemoan every part of my existence if I am bored with my life for more than a week or so. But the thing is, I have always known that, and I just FIGURED that everyone would be like "Oh, Annie is laying on the ground whining about Lord knows what, so I just need to tell her a joke or kick her or something and she will probably get distracted and stop whining and be better tomorrow." Some personalities, without consciously trying, just jive well with that. My friend Ryan, when I whine, tells me that he understands that it must be really hard to be a fat girl with no friends and bad fashion sense and that I should probably just end my life. And it makes me laugh and then I'm fine! The end!

But some people don't get it. They just stare at me with a horrible look. And, to that, I say "what's his problem?" That is where this test comes in handy!

The results explain the strengths and weaknesses of different typers and the ways in which each type can work to understand the others. I can see that some types perceive this 'quirk' as the most terrible, horrible action ever and don't understand that I am just acting dramatic for the sake of having SOMETHING to do when I'm otherwise unoccupied. So, Anne, you should learn to tone it down. Epiphannie!

Very helpful in general, I'd say, as self improvement is a good thing. Plus, if you know the "type" of your friends/family it is super entertaining to read all of the information about "how type x and type y interact"... sometimes eerily accurate, always very amusing, often extremely helpful.

Of course, reading about my flaws or failings did not awaken some incredible new reality in my head, where I saw the light and decided to change all of my habits (sorry Oprah, I don't feel like living my best life too soon. I feel like bloggin' and eating some cheese cubes.)

I still will probably always run late for appointments, I still will always get restless easily, and I will always be inclined to have muscle tension and headaches (no, really, the test said so. It is written. Step off, self diagnosis haters.) However, I AM now more aware of how others may perceive my traits, and how I should perceieve the habits of others.

As for my BLG, my posse, my crew? I like my friends that I have now, so I will probably keep them around. And hopefully knowing a lil bit more about myself will help me understand them a lil bit mo', too. Of course, I will still continue to petition for new members into my BLG, such as the 3 best friends I have always wished for: Mindy Kaling, Kelly Ripa, and Kelly Ripa's Husband, Mark Consuelos. I will write an entry sometime soon that explains why I feel that these 3 people, plus man gaverbo, could make an absolutely fantastic four. But until then, I recommend to all of you, my friends, go find your best life. Or at least one that suits you for today, if you are an ENFP and thats how you roll.

Right quick

I just want to know which one of the "8" caused John and Kate's marriage to crumble.
Was it Alexis?


I bet it was Alexis.


.

Puns.

After nine days of nonstop babysitting, I'm leaving behind my mommy lifestyle and returning to my super fly gangsta lifestyle. And by gangsta lifestyle, I mean blogging and watching House marathons ( it's Scurvy you guys!!! What a crazy twist! Push ten CCs of Orange Juice!).


Though playing Mom to a family of 5 for the past week was fun and heartwarming, I'm quite content to be off the clock now. I can take a shower without little fists knocking on the door, I only have to watch Dora the Explorer if I want to (si, a veces), and this morning when I slammed my elbow into the wall, I said "Shit" and didn't have to follow up with "Don't Ever Repeat That!"


Kids are great, but I'm sure I need some more time before I've got my own little bundles of peanut-buttery-handed joy. I'm happy just keeping up with my own peanutbuttery hands, thankyouverymuch.

*********
Anyway, today is Memorial Day. In my book (or blog, as it were), that's the official start of Summer 09. The outlook for the summer is bright, though so far things have gotten off to a slightly bumpy start for 2 reasons:

1)Fashion-Wise, you may remember me reporting/lamenting the popular stylistic chernobal that is Maxi-Dresses. I thought that these curtains-turned apparel were the worst thing we would see.


Until I saw rompers.


Okay, Maxi Dresses make us all look like Pregnant Gypsies.

Stores like American Apparel apparently (apparel-ently?) want all women to look like members of the Cirque De Sole squad.

And now, most fashion outlets want us ladies to look like babies. Very tall babies that wear one-piece outfits with booties that look as though we are rocking some Pampers.

Oh, America, what have we gotten ourselves into? I know the economy is bad, but that is no excuse to run to your nearest swap of fabric and make yourself look as absurd as possible.



2) Swine Flu.
(I know, I know- TheSwineFlu should come before TheRompers as the number one downer of Summer OhNine. Whatever. Turn the page.)


All I want to say about Swine Flu is one quick thing:

Everyone wants a cure for this flu. The world agrees that it blows, and it needs to get gone. But we all need to stop focusing on the negative and look at the unbelievably positive, awesome opportunity to create a pun-tastic name for the cure to Swine Flu.

That name is...

Drumroll...

The Oinkment!!

If you have Swine Flu, you need an Oinkment.
It will cure you AND make you giggle. Win Win!

I totally want the Surgeon General to announce that we are on the brink of finding an Oinkment. I want Mehmet Oz to explain to millions of American Women that the Oinkment will not only cure Swine Flu but also help you lose weight and gain energy. I want CNN's medical experts to look seriously into the camera and say "We huffed, we puffed, and we blew that house down. Those pigs won't stand a chance against our Oinkment."

...This is how I presume the medical industry works.

Annnyway, those are my two thoughts for this, the first day of Summer O9.
That, and that I want to start a show on NPR called "Morning Addition", wherein basic Math problems are broadcast across America. I thought of it while running yesterday and laughed so hard that I had to stop for a break. Then I realized how incredibly lame I am and ran some tough hills. Gotta look good in those Rompers!

By Anny other name

I’m coming off the DL.
DL, here, could be interpreted as Down Low or Disabled List—either will suffice, both are true.

For the past few weeks I’ve taken a sabbatical from pretty much my entire existence. But now I’m back and ready for action. I bet you all thought I got too cool for this nonsense and went on to bigger, better, more succinct things --like Twitter.
The answer is yes AND no. I have, to be fair, started to tweet my little heart out, but rest assured that I have gotten neither too cool nor too abbreviated for this here blog. While I’m off thefacebook and on to the twitter, I won’t desert my number one stunna’, ab.of.sep

I began the blog as a way to keep in touch/keep up with all my amigos studying in Ecuador, Chile, Ireland, Spain, France, Italy, Scotland, & Australia (pheww. So well-traveled, you guys! ). But now they are all on their way BACK to the Land of the Free, the big mac, the 24 hour walmart super center, and an extreme distaste for Taxation without representation. We don’t mess with that noise.

I find myself, thus, with a question of purpose—Should I keep blogging? Do I have any more reason to feel the separation and broadcast it online? Do I have anything left to say? How do I get the damn links to open up in new windows already?

For a while, I thought that the blog had perhaps run its course. I didn’t have all that much to say, and I was really preoccupied with watching teen cribs and trying to pretend that I don’t have a thesis to propose. But then, like an adorable scene from an adorable Meg Ryan movie, an adorable thing happened.

(Cue music)
I was going about my business, spending a nice little morning full of Annie-Time in Philadelphia whilst visiting the sister. It was terribly rainy but not terribly enough to divert my usual coffee-with- a- bagel- and- diet- coke craving upon wakeup. So I headed off to head off the hunger and spend some quality time with my breakfast and me.

Not all that adorable yet, but I’m getting there, so hold your horse power.

A few hours later, back in my sister’s new house, I took a break from organizing her bookshelves to use the bathroom-(big ups to Al Roker and the lady from real simple magazine for showing me the “hot new tips’ for bookshelf tidying” on the today show. I had no idea I was shelving all wrong all this time.)
While washing my hands, I plotted out my afternoon-- I would finish up in the house, make a trip to the library, and then head to town to the meet with sister. Nowhere in my interior plan-making monologue did I say “oh, also, I will get locked in this bathroom for about 30 to 45 minutes”.

But, as the saying goes, life happens when we are busy making other plans that don’t involve getting trapped in small spaces.

The doorknob would not turn. Not even a little. The door wasn’t locked, but it was on lockdown.
I didn’t panic. In fact, I didn’t get upset at all. I considered my other exit : a window that led to a small patch of grass two flights below—womp womp0- and moved on to plan B: engaging the doorknob in an epic battle.

As background, you should know that my sister just moved into this house on Friday. She spent the weekend in Pittsburgh, bringing her time in the house to a grand total of 10 hours. Also, she has 3 roommates whom she basically does not know at all. Moreover, I got to the house around 11 Sunday night, met one roommate, and went to bed, so no one even really knew I was there.

My option of breaking through the door with my brute force was not quite an option. I didn’t want to spend the day hanging out in the bathtub, but I also didn’t want my first impression upon the roommates to be ‘that weird girl that broke our bathroom door”. I therefore had to apply as much pressure as I could to open the stubborn door without doing any damage to it.

Conundrum!

So I did what I usually do when caught in this type of sticky situation: I had a good laugh. The prospect of being trapped was not too great, but the prospect of having one of the roommates come home and awkwardly ask through the door “who are you and why did you lock yourself in my bathroom?” was decidedly more un-great. So I guffawed a bit at the funny-cuz-it’s-sad sitch and thought that this was just the sort of clumsy story that I would want to share with my jet setting friends. I started to feel a little sad, a little separated, and a little frustrated that I couldn’t layout the door with a fierce roundhouse kick to its paneling.

This is where it got adorable and I thought of my little bloggy.

As I rummaged through the drawers of the bathroom, looking for some tools (yes, tools. I was going to build my way out of the room.) I thought “hmm, perhaps I will blog about this, and broadcast my never-ending bad luck to the world. But probably not- it’s really not that eventful…”

Just then, I dug my hand into my pocket (thinking very literally and looking for a handy pocket knife, in its natural habitat) and pulled out a slip of paper. Looking to see what it was, I found that it was my receipt from the above-mentioned breakfast (see, it wasn’t just a random tangent).

The receipt had my name printed on the top.
Oh, wait, did I say my name?
Oh, my mistake.
It did not say “Annie”, or even “Anne”.
Nope, it said “Anny”.

What. The.Hell.Food.Service.Industry.

Maybe it wasn’t quite the caliber of being mistaken for a woman named Man, but the stupidity of the cognomen confusion was enough to bring me back to earth and back to Man Gaverbo. Annie, spelled with a Y? Oh playa please, I know that Y can sometimes be a vowel but it can definitely NOT sometimes be "ie".

I have never been mistaken for a person with an interesting or difficult name, yet somehow, again and again, people just get it oh-so-wrong. But I like it. And if this were an adorable Meg Ryan movie, that would have been the moment when the adorable protagonist, caught up in her distracting life, her attention turned away from everything she THOUGHT she should be focused on, got an adorable little bop on the head. An adorable bop to remind her of someone or something that she stopped thinking of. An adorable Epiphany.
Maybe it wasn’t so profound, but this was my epiphany.

My epiphAnny. Yes. How damn adorable is that?

Maybe my button nose is not quite the button nose of Meg Ryan, but the broken knob stopped me in the midst of my million-mile- an –hour- plan- making-marathon, and the little receipt made me think of my itty bitty blog. I like sharing my daily epiphAnnys with anyone who cares to listen. Even if it is just my mom, and she only reads the blog to make sure that the tuition money going towards a degree in English is doing its job.

Whatever the case may be, I’m back. Same name, same place, and maybe a little less separation anxiety! Who knows what adorable stories and puns I will encounter next?